THE IMAGES

MONDAY DECEMBER 6th 1976
DANBRAY - TOWN CENTRE : DUSK
Danbray town centre boasted a host of retail outlets ranging from the tiny ‘knick-knack’ shop on the corner to the large supermarket with everything on special offer. It was a modern shopping centre, a typical child of the seventies, theoretically designed to make travel to a large city unnecessary. Unfortunately the concept of the design revolved around the mistaken belief that if there were enough shops then they would, quite naturally, be well stocked to cover a wide range of needs and therefore a thriving business community serving the local population would be developed to be mutually beneficial for all concerned. Even a brief walk through the Danbray Town Centre was all it took to demonstrate that this was patently not the case.
The shops were, on the whole, inefficient and did not serve the needs of anyone in particular except for supplying the most rudimentary basics of everyday life. Far from seducing people from travelling to town, the sheer inability to source anything of any consequence, in tandem with one of the ugliest and most poorly constructed architectural designs in the West of Scotland, actually increased business for the outlying areas within a year or so of its opening. In effect the Danbray Town Centre was literally gross on a staggering multiplicity of levels. The concrete concept may have looked seductive on paper or blueprint form, but in physical execution it was the absolute pits. Within two years the stark concrete panels were atmospherically tarnished and impoverished looking, the flat roofs leaked like sieves, the post modernist fountain and pool at the core of the centre were now a permanently dried out cement oasis whose structural flaws were so severe it would be cheaper to entirely rebuild than to repair it yet again. The trees designed to shade the plethora of anticipated shoppers generally never grew past their sapling stage and those that did were soon vandalised by the mindless yobbery of the hordes of scum who populated the five or six housing ghettos that provided the vast majority of Danbray’s populace. It was ugly, inefficient, depressing and rarely populated by local residents to any great extent. It was a fairly typical New Town Centre and within it lay Hall's Record Shop – and this too was historically no exception to the rule.
Mhic Palmer worked in the store and had done for the past six months or so. It was owned by Mr. Harry Hall, an ambitious thirty nine year old, ex-EMI rep who hoped to start a thriving business - a financial oasis in an economic desert, he claimed as he quoted his financial advisor, Thomas Harvey. The shop's overall business had taken a sharp upward turn since Mhic had started working there, mainly due to his shrewd suggestions of new stock purchase, reorganisation and astute awareness of the average record buyer’s taste.
Mhic had been interrupted from his scholastic studies towards the end of the last summer holidays when Harry Hall had offered him the job - principally because he bought so much vinyl, was in the record shop so frequently and also showed such an avid interest in the business generally. Neither of them had regretted the move to date. Mhic had eagerly given up his plans to continue with his education. He was glad he didn't have to face a sixth year in school, especially since he had been promised the management of the second ‘Hall’s Record Shop’ which was to be opened as soon as finances allowed but certainly by the end of 1977 or early 1978 at the latest – that was the plan anyway. Mhic attacked the job with a voracious passion, committed and intent on making something of himself in an employment arena he actively enjoyed. He did not regret leaving school in any way - when it came to the choice between the university pipe dream and a pile of readies in the hand, deferred gratification didn't have a look in as far as he was concerned. Mhic enjoyed the job immensely and most of the time didn't even feel as though it was even work - except for the hideous spectre of Mrs. Hall.
Sarah Hall was Harry's pensioner mother who came into the shop now and then to 'help out' in order to relieve some of the pressure from the regular staff during the busiest times or when the monthly stocktaking was being undertaken. Mrs. Sarah Hall was one of the world's genuinely natural idiots, it was instinctive, came spontaneously and needed no outside help whatsoever – it was almost as if the woman had been gifted with a mind boggling ability to achieve incompetence with no effort being required on her part whatsoever. The actual value of her assistance was dubious at best, even when the small shop was packed with young customers on Saturday afternoons, since it generally took two days to recover from each single day she helped out. There was a lot of conflict over even the most trivial matters between her and Mhic, it was the only thing which spoiled the job for him. Fortunately for him this irritating intrusion was only inflicted every now and again, but if it was every day…
The eternal drizzle was lashing in a changing pattern against the large window and trickled down over it in thick rivulets making a soft hypnotic sound. Mhic went over to the sophisticated shop stereo and put on side two of The Beatles’ ‘Abbey Road’ as background music and then settled down to look through one of the trade magazines from the small table behind the front counter since there were no customers even seeking shelter from the elements for the moment.
Mhic was halfway through his seventeenth year, a little smaller than Sto, and was slightly built with an extremely pale complexion, almost the typical dull redhead. Palmer looked deceptively weak, which was an advantage to him rather than a hindrance, something he used to the fullest potential whenever an appropriate situation arose. His curly hair, which hung in long ruddy curls around his shoulders, was a source of constant complaint to him - It looked a bit like Robert Plant's at times and Mhic distinctly did not like Led Zeppelin. His face was very thin and his eyes were in a permanent state of cynicism, although he had been known, at one time, to be optimistic about the prospect of becoming a doctor. The strong cheekbones were angled so as to point down to the corners of his mouth resulting in an unusually cheerful visage when he smiled. Palmer's mouth itself was somewhat strange, it inexplicably carried a lot of expression in the way other people's eyes tended to, and was a curiously attractive facial feature. The one other source of constant irritation to Mhic was the sprinkle of pale freckles which were liberally scattered over his nose and cheeks. As a whole, his overall image and singular dress sense was one which inspired interest, he didn't have to say anything to induce attention, his looks automatically aroused curiosity. This was just as well, as Mhic rarely said very much in comparison to the rest of his friends.
Quickly losing interest in the hype ridden trade magazine, Mhic looked down at his quartz watch and smiled, it was slowly heading towards ‘knocking off’ time – there was only another hour or so remaining. As ever he was looking forward to getting home to catch up on his sleep and getting something substantial to eat. He was always hungry except when he was asleep… and even then, there were many times when he dreamed about eating the way other teenagers dreamt of fondling Farrah Fawcett and any of Charlie’s or even Benny Hill’s Angels. It was quite inexplicable how a human could consume so much food on a daily basis and yet remain so slim and elegant.
The sound of the rain increasing in volume caught his attention as the door was opened. This was the first person to come in during the last two hours. Sto wandered in, his fringe plastered wetly to his face and little streaks of water were running down him like sweat as he tossed the Parka hood back.
"Hello!" he said and then just stood rigidly still as if waiting for something to happen.
Mhic tried to fathom what the shaggy, sodden, creature that stood before him was meant to be.
Giving the benefit of the doubt to it actually being Richard Storey, Mhic smiled incredulously at it.
"Good God, Sto, you look like a total mess."
"Well, so would you if you'd been caught in that fucking monsoon out there. What is it with this shitty town – someone told me it only rained twice a year, once for three months and the other for nine? We went to see Rosser earlier – it pours! I went to look at a car yesterday evening – it pours! On top of which last week we were walking down to see you after school, yeah? When Mack jumps onto the train nothing happens, Harris steps on the bus and into shelter and the sky cracks open. If he fell into a river he’d come up with a gold watch in his mouth. Some people are just born lucky. Oh-ho, I see Modern Music’s arrived three months late, did you hear them repeated on John Peel last week? Still a bit Bowie-ish but pretty good… Jonn will be well pleased, except he got that the day it came out – he’s been bleating on about how wonderful Be Bop Deluxe are since he caught them with whatshername at Glasgow Uni’s QM gig last year. Well, he'd seen them before, a couple of times but that's the gig he goes on about. Personally they’re no Allman Brothers to me but… everyone to their own, eh? Well, I can see it's all go in here, huh?"
He eventually finished gibbering and was now standing directly across from Mhic, finally stopped for breath. The rain was still dripping from him and onto the counter leaving quite a discernible damp patch.
"Have you been drinking? You're like an overwound clock."
"No, I'm on the wagon – well, almost. I’m reformed, only drinking beer in the afternoons …oh, and wine as well this week! How's Michelle? Not seen her about for a while…she doing alright?"
"Yeah, yeah she's okay,” Mhic said hesitating for a moment.
"I'm not asking for the secrets to the universe, Mhic, just asking how she is - no hidden agenda, we're not really running away together… she just tells you that to keep you in line, make you jealous and reveal her sexual adoration of me!"
Mhic tilted his head and gazed back saying nothing, a simple smile on his face.
"Parlez vous Francaise? Hello? Anyone there? Earth to Palmer!"
"You really are an arse sometimes, Sto!" Mhic suggested.
"And your point is?"
Mhic and he broke into a laugh that shed even more rain from Storey than before.
"So what have you been up to, Sto?"
The wet one chatted as he turned away and browsed through the mass of record sleeves stacked on the racks across from the counter. "Not much, getting wet…!"
"Yeah, I got that, thanks!"
"Hmmm! Went to look at another car on Sunday night, last night, whatever - an Old Morris Minor, I love them!"
"Any good?"
"Great, actually, it just doesn't run!"
Mhic laughed with a little hint of mental tragedy. Knowing Sto, this wasn't meant to be as funny as it actually sounded. "It doesn't run?"
"No - it doesn't run!"
"So, what's the point of it?"
"It's a Morris Minor!"
"Yeah?"
"That's the point!"
"Not with you! Come again?" he asked, puzzled.
"Well," Sto said in exasperation and turning round. "…you can always find a cheap second hand car, right? But how often can you find a second hand, classic late fifties Morris Minor car?"
Mhic paused and tried to see the point. "Still not with you yet!"
"Christ, climb out the Stone Age! Morris Minor, right?"
"Right!"
"For sale, right?"
"Right!" Mhic replied with infinite patience.
"Put the two together and…!"
"You can buy a Morris Minor that doesn't run and therefore you won't be able to drive - so, you'll use it to sleep in when you roll home pissed in the early hours?"
"Christ, you can be so dense sometimes! I buy it, cajole the parental parasites into a full repair and restore and, hey Presto - I'm a classic Morris Minor driver. Cool or what?"
Mhic shrugged and shook his head. "A world of your own, Sto! Yeah, that sounds ace!"
Sto smiled and went back to browsing. "Told you! You being a bit slow, like, but I knew it'd make sense if I just gave it to you in little chunks!"
"Like biscuit crumbs?"
"Exactly!"
Mhic whistled and turned the volume up, looking out the rain hammered window - it appeared to be easing off a shade.
"Right, Sto, where's Rosser been then?"
"Wish I could tell you!"
"Try! Try hard, you can do it!"
"No!" Sto said turning again with irritation. "I mean, I don't know. He was absolutely closed mouthed! Didn't give a hint! Zero."
Mhic shrugged with some surprise. "Can't be a new babe then, Bill'd be broadcasting it blow by blow if it was!"
"Now that's a good album!"
"What?"
"Jeff Beck - Blow by Blow. Didn't like it much at first but Harris plays it every time we crash there. Good album now!"
"I put him onto that, Sto!"
"Yeah but you didn't put him onto ‘Physical Graffiti’, did you?"
Mhic shook his head. "Right again, and…"
"Well, he plays that all the time as well. Which is odd because he's not a big Zepp fan, that's more a Rosser thing!"
"Have you considered therapy recently?"
"Nah, I need to save up for the Morris Minor!"
"Yeah, what was I thinking?"
Sto looked round seriously. "I don't know. Sometimes I really wonder about you Mhic - half a dozen Highers and a string of O's and you just can't follow conversations. That's weird to me!"
"Of course it is, Sport!"
"Exactly. Hey, stick on the Floyd - 'Dark Side of the Moon', eh?"
Mhic walked to the stock behind the counter and found the black spined album.
"Don't you ever get tired of this?"
"Not so far, why?"
Mhic simply shook his head and carefully removed the Apple record and placed the Pink Floyd classic album on the turntable.
"So is there any news, Sto?"
"Not really! Oh, Rosser got that turd Burgess as we left his place. I'd imagine he's still breaking limbs as we speak!"
"Nice! Well, looking on the bright side of mindless violence, at least Bill must be fighting fit again!"
"Literally, he lamped one of the little shits out cold - bit impressive, if you like that type of thing!"
"Yeah - nice! Let me guess… he didn’t like the colour of his socks?" Mhic replied sarcastically.
"Oh, yeah, there was one bit of interesting eventualityness…"
The other waited for Sto to continue but nothing came forth.
"What was that, Sto?" Mhic finally asked.
"Thanks, because that's how conversation works… I say something and then you and then me and then…"
"Yeah, yeah, yeah - Get to it!"
"Oooh crabby! Not been serviced by Michelle's very lovely ministrations recently?"
"Sto!" Mhic sighed.
"Fine! I saw that Christene chick again as we were going to Rosser's. Must be her day off or something!"
"And…"
"Well, she's pretty tasty, isn't she?"
"Sto, she's Michelle's best friend - I don't look at her that way!"
"Are you bent or something? Fuck, she is so fine, how could you see her any other way than fine?"
"I don't know, Sto. Discipline, I suppose!"
Sto nodded on reflection. "Yeah, that'd work. I should have thought of that!"
"Is there a point to this or did you just want to share your drooling moment?"
"Yeah, just sharing the drooling! She’s really superhot and good looking. Man, if I was Harris I'd be all over her like a cheap suit!"
Mhic laughed and uncontrollably shook his head, "You are a real wordsmith, Sto!"
"Thanks, thanks a lot, Mhic!" he replied sincerely.
"Sarcasm is wasted on you, isn't it?"
"Is it?"
Mhic stopped himself before he fell into the trap.
"Speaking of fine things in your world, what's the Pam - Macklin update?"
"Well, kissy kissy cosmos, isn't it?” Sto stated.
"Is it? That's why I'm asking."
"Must be, Mack ducked our health visit to Rosser so he had to be seeing little super-pooper girl."
"Playing with fire there! He's hooked on somebody that’s hung up on someone else, it'll end in tears!"
"You can be a real pessimist sometimes, Mhic."
"Really?" he sarcastically replied. "News headline stuff, eh?"
"Witty, very witty… you spend too much time with Harris."
"We all do, Sto! We all spend too much time with each other when we should find some good company instead of a bunch of…"
"Handsome, wild and crazy geezers the world loves?"
"Yeah… right on, Sport!"
"The truth is a tough place to visit!"
"How would you know, you're barely on a nodding acquaintance with this planet at the best of times!"
Sto turned with a hurt look on his face. "That's harsh… and hurtful too! How's Mary?"
Mhic chuckled at the sheer artifice of his friend. "My sister, Mary?"
"No, Mary Magdalene! Yes, Mary Palmer, pretty redhead, great bells, long legs and…"
"Sto, stop the bombing, that's my sister and she's a pain in the arse…"
"But she looks so fine!"
"She's only sixteen, man!"
"Your point?"
"She's my sister and she's only sixteen!"
Sto shook his head and looked up as if reflecting for a moment. "Nah, still not getting that really!"
Mhic sighed, "Isn't it getting near food time for you?"
Sto looked at the clock and nodded in agreement. "You bored with me?"
"Very, next you'll be telling me how cute Pauline is!"
"Fuck's sake, Mhic, she's your sister and more importantly only thirteen… it'll be a year or so before she looks as fine as Mary, but I'm sure she'll be a real cutie too!"
"You sick bastard, Sto!"
"What, just because you landed a super-fox? Don't sniff at the rest of us mortals who can still explore the delights of unattached womanhood! Well apart from when I hit the East Coast to see Clare!"
Mhic felt his stomach tighten at the mere implication of Michelle again but he continued as if nothing had crossed his mind. "Just not my sisters, especially Pauline! Jesus!"
Sto thought about it and shrugged his shoulders, slowly traipsing to the door.
"Good, fine, great. Well I just dropped in to tell you how to use your day off! Come to the Park tomorrow at two, usual place – I think we're going to feed raw rib Rosser to the ducks. See you!” Sto said and swiftly disappeared out the door without waiting for any response, back into the rain which had started almost as soon as he exited into a fierce, torrential burst.
Mhic mentally shook his head for a moment, his pals were like family - you might love them but it doesn’t stop them being demented. He stood looking at the wall with the Rod Stewart and Roxy Music promotional posters on it, although he didn't really see them. With a twinge of annoyance he tried to clear his mind of the problem.
Trust Storey to stir up the ashes. Perhaps things were better off before that Saturday night, he reflected. It could have been a really good thing instead of a total shambles. It had all come to a head after Stevie's party in Bearsden. A lot of things had happened after that party, perhaps fate was mounting some sort of conspiracy. Mhic stood in the shop, in body only, his mind was a million miles away thinking again of what had happened. Twisting the knife in himself one more time.

As they had left Stevie's house that night, the sounds of the raging party carried far into Roman Road to echo noticeably through the chilly air. Michelle pulled the big furry collar of her dark coat up as Mhic put his arm around her waist and pulled her close to him. Their foggy breath floated on the cold November night as they slowly walked up to Bearsden Cross and promptly found a taxi. They were soon on their way to the West End of Glasgow. Michelle's friend Sally lived pretty near Glasgow University but was away from the rented flat most weekends. Sally studied undergraduate French, Spanish and German but mostly she studied older men… something she certainly didn’t need a paper qualification in.
The flat was in a block of tenement like buildings up above Crockett’s Ironmongers somewhere in the middle of Byres Road and looked fashionably desirable with a certain amount of kudos for its relative opulence when compared to the Sargasso sea of surrounding bedsitland hovels many impoverished students resided in. Having wealthy parents to supplement your grant allocation was clearly nothing to be ashamed of.
Mounting the red stone stairs the pair climbed to the top floor and pushed open the dark green Victorian storm doors, smiling to one another as Michelle unlocked her friend’s residence. Entering Sally's flat they were not remotely surprised to find that it was empty again. The warmth of the house struck out like a heat wave washing over them. Mhic tossed off his bleached Wrangler jacket and watched Michelle carefully hang up her expensive coat, then rush off into the kitchen to make some tea. He followed her in, switched on the small black, portable television in the kitchenette and watched her as she secured the cups, milk, sugar, spoons and tea bags with an accuracy that provided the illusion that it was her own home rather than the accommodation of her close friend. At all times she looked attractive, she was a strikingly composed girl, tall but with elfin like features, elegant, sexy and often desired – they both considered that they were a good match for one another, but tonight she looked even better than usual somehow.
She was tall even without her shoes and walked with an air of sophistication and dignity inherent in few seventeen-year-olds. Looking at her in the kitchenette, Mhic mused over how out of place she looked in the domestic setting of the apartment. Strangely, she almost looked older than Sally, a childhood friend and some three years her elder. Mhic felt the drink swirl around inside him, causing mental ecstasy in his brain as he succumbed to the giddy sensation of light-headedness. Michelle's wordless singing reached Mhic's ears and distracted him from trying to make the room stop sliding. The light shone and caught on her jet black, feather cut hair and glistened off the two patches of bleached white ringlets which hung before her ears. Mhic always wondered why as a child she should have been taunted about the natural white streaks, they looked great to him - in fact, they contrasted beautifully against the dark pallor of her olive skin.
It was all strangely dream like, the sounds of the film on the TV and then the muted screams rising from it, the darkness of the room with only small rays of light scattering around and bouncing off reflecting objects and finally Michelle coming towards him in her tight, blue silk pencil dress, one leg before the other while the light from behind her adhered to the gown’s sheen to follow each movement like a luminescent caress.
Mhic took the tea from her as she sat down beside him, he smiled over at her and she kissed him lightly on the cheek in reply. The film was going into its' final phase as Christopher Lee’s Dracula prepared to rise yet again, whilst outside the building vehicles droned almost mutely away into the distance. Michelle kicked off her blue platform shoes and wriggled her toes, which were still trapped within the confines of her black ultra sheer, ten denier, micromesh tights. Mhic quietly laughed and the sound seemed to echo through the small room. Smiling at him she removed the thick, antique silver bangle from her wrist and rested it on the small table beside the couch. It had been a thirteenth birthday present from her father – not long before his death. Mhic's concentration flickered between the film and Michelle's face, she was so bloody beautiful – it was almost six months since they’d been going out and he still found her exceptionally beautiful. The soft lighting complimented her, highlighted her excellent taste in make-up, inducing adulation for her winsome features which were genetically constructed to harmoniously blend into one another and seamlessly create a breathtaking organic product. Mhic lit up a B&H and pulled heavily on it, savoured the taste and then despised the curse they put upon him. The words which were going through his head were curious, he had heard them before but he couldn't remember where. She nestled against him, ignoring her tea, as the film ascended to its' climax.
'And somebody spoke and I went into a dream.'
Mhic flicked the ash away as he tried to remember. Looking down at her the smoke rose and stung his eyes to create a blurred effect with his vision. Her face was so smooth, like tanned alabaster or the artificiality of the ‘Pears’ television adverts. Distracted by the one eyed monster again, he mused. He stared at her vivid red lipstick mouth, it was full and pleasing, almost verging on the promiscuous. The light was held on the glistening paint which delicately adorned her lips and concealed the perfectly set teeth that glimmered so alluringly when she smiled. Her thin nose complimented her mouth and gave her a mildly sophisticated look, an image she wore with matching dignity. Michelle's smoothly rounded cheekbones curved softly down to engage her mouth and create an almost oriental look in the dull monochromatic light from the television.
The film ended, she rose and returned the cups to the sink, washing them and was soon humming along to Neil Young's ‘Harvest’ album that Mhic had put on the small stereo. Michelle returned and sat beside him in silence, the sounds of the stereo filling the small room, now illuminated solely by a 40 watt red bulb lamp, the pilot light from the deck and the lazy yellow neon glow of the intruding street lights. She looked up questioningly, her eyes were seductively captivating, large and deeply blue in colour, delicately completed by a touch of black Biba eye liner and a streak of dark blue Mary Quant. Mhic loved her eyes most of all about her, they were bright and lively with a depth which made him feel that he was staring into a bottomless well brimming with unknown beauty. From what somehow appeared to be miles away, Mhic eventually heard her voice,
"I said, did you enjoy it tonight?"
"No." he finally replied with an effort.
"Why? What was wrong? I thought there was something wrong, you've been so quiet all night, even before Jonn’s fight with that animal."
"No, it wasn’t that – it was just the whole party. Those people were a bunch of total morons, half of them didn't have two ‘O’ levels to rub together and even less brain cells. There was a guy there who thought that the sun shone out of Jimmy Page's arse and Led Zeppelin were the be all and end all of music. I don't mind talking to people if they’ve got something to say but they all had about one single subject each that they could talk about and that was it – the end! Shit, half of them were typical Stoners or Loadies. And to top it off, if you didn't agree with them then you were an idiot in their eyes. That in itself suggests a very open mind on their behalf, doesn't it? It really was a lot of fun! I don't like Stevie's friends too much. He’s going the wrong way."
"Cynic!" Michelle sneered with an impish grin. "There were a lot of nice people there if you were prepared to talk to them without assuming they were stupid. You hardly even spoke to Dave or Stevie. I didn’t know what was wrong with you, Mhic, I thought I had done something wrong."
"No! God, no! It was just me being a misery… I’m not a big fan of Stevie’s parties. I'm sorry!" his curly, coppery toned hair shimmered as he shook his head. “I don’t think Jonn was too keen on that one either – or Christene!”
Michelle’s face reflected her anger as she thought about the incident again. “God, poor Christene! Sometimes I wish she was just… I don’t know – happy again. I can’t remember the last guy who wasn’t a total nightmare to her… apart from Jonn!”
“Well, he’s not anything like a boyfriend to Christene – is he? He’ll be a mess tomorrow after that mindless loadie steamrollered him. Not like him to get tagged that way.”
“He stopped that pig from ripping Christene’s… well, he saved her from whatever that horror was going to do and Dave put an end to it all. The whole thing was horrible – that was the only aspect of the night I hated.”
“The guy was lucky Christene didn’t have him charged… mind you, he was the worse for wear when Dave and Stevie sorted him out.”
“There’s nothing clever about violence – no matter how justified it is.” Michelle chastised and then paused for a few moments. “Do you think Jonn will really be okay? Christene couldn’t even face him after it. She’s just so… lost, sometimes. I wish they were a couple just like us!”
Mhic laughed as ‘Heart of Gold’ played in the background – the irony wasn’t lost on him.
“You mean Jonn and Christene?”
Michelle looked up seriously. “Yes… I’ve always thought they were a good match for one another. Don’t you?”
“Well… if she’s looking to be another casualty – maybe!”
Michelle elbowed him making him laugh. “That’s horrible. I don’t believe he’s like that… he’s always tried to look out for her. Do you think he’s got a thing for Chris?”
“Are you asking me if he’s said anything about her?”
Michelle shook her head. “No, of course not – that would be unfair to ask you that.”
Mhic nodded and stroked her hair with a wry smile, saying nothing until she tilted her head and nudged him a little.
“Has he said anything, Mhic?”
“Michelle!”
“What?” the girl smiled and her eyes looked disconcertingly innocent.
“No, not really”
“What does that mean?”
“You’ve known him even longer than me… sometimes it isn’t what he says, it’s more what he avoids saying that tells you something!”
“And…” Michelle asked eagerly.
Mhic laughed and shook his head. “He’s very defensive of her.”
“And that means…”
“Well, when Bill says that Christene… well, you know what he’s like. When he makes some comment about Christene’s body or…”
“Specific parts… very specific parts knowing Bill!”
“Mmmm! Well, Jonn tends to be pretty cutting in response!”
“So he does have a thing for her?”
“Dunno really. He’d just ask her out if he did. And I don’t think tonight is going to make him any more inclined to ask her out any time soon.”
Michelle looked sad again. “Well, who knows. Maybe the next party will be better all round?”
"I hope I didn't spoil it for you Miche! I guess I just wasn't in the party mood. Now this is much more of the kind of party I like…"
He leaned forward and started kissing her slowly.
Michelle held him close, as if there really was no tomorrow on the horizon, running her fingers through his hair. The pair were enjoying the taste of someone else, sounds of breathing, scents of perfume, touching and feeling the person they cared for. They smiled at each other when the kissing stopped.
"I like anywhere I am, so long as you're there, Mhic!"
"Snap!" he laughed, stroking her neck.
Mhic felt her consume him as his hands ran over her silky dress, gently caressing her breasts and feeling her exhale in pleasure into his mouth. Michelle slipped her hands under his top, rubbing the pale skin she adored.
Michelle looked into his eyes almost shyly and spoke nervously. "Shall we go to bed?"
Mhic nodded and stood up, following her lead into Sally’s spare room.
The room was clean, sparse and warm. The music was still just audible as ‘Needle and the Damage Done’ drifted gently behind them. Michelle smiled to him and turned so he could unzip her. She slowly peeled the dress off and laid it neatly on the little settee by the window, leaving her with only the briefest white lace pants and black tights as she covered her chest unconsciously with her arms. Michelle stood almost shyly, shivering slightly as Mhic threw his clothes in an untidy pile on the floor by the bed, boots, socks, T-shirt and jeans. As he was occupied with disrobing, Michelle pulled off her tights in a smooth movement and left them with the abandoned dress then removed her shiny silver earrings. He pulled her to him and looked at her eyes, quite unaware these same beautiful eyes had already somehow suffered so much pain in the past seven years. Once again he ran his hands over her warm flesh, stroking her back and making her arch into him.
Slowly they stumbled into the bed in the dim light, still holding onto each other, joined like ‘Siamese Twins’. Only now was real to either of them, everything else was a hallucination and simply didn't matter - until morning, at any rate.
With a little flick of her fingers she activated the bedside radio alarm. It unobtrusively played some late night jazz replacing the now dead air as she shook gently beside him. They bit and struggled with each other as one, cautiously disposing of their underwear and panting as they delicately touched one another.
She moved her body in small swaying motions against Mhic and felt his response rising to her. He hardly noticed the tight grin of anticipation which decorated her face as she shyly touched his organ. The lingering smell of her perfume was almost as pleasing to him, faint but still noticeable. He slid his tongue over her hard white teeth and stroked his hand slowly over her rib cage, moving up to cup her breast, gently caressing her, then grasping harder as she encouraged him. His hand slid down her body, over skin which was unbelievably smooth. The whole event seemed like a dream. With a sensual passion, she licked at his neck as he moved his hands over her then gently bit at him as he pulled at her soft, tangled pubic hair, sliding his finger between her hot little vaginal lips. A sigh burst from her as he probed at her, rhythmically stroking and easily parting the warm puffy inner labia.
The girl tensed noticeably and she pulled back from him, speaking hesitantly and softly.
"You won't hurt me, will you, Mhic?"
"No! No, I wouldn't hurt you for anything, Michelle." he said before reaching out for the sheath still lying in his jeans.
Michelle saw the faint glow of his pale skin in the dimness but he was quite unaware of the anxiety that dominated her face.
As he finally moved back to her, already peeling the tinfoil from the Durex contraceptive, she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly.
"I love you Mhic, more than anything! You do know that, don’t you?"
Mhic felt a well of pride surge within himself. She looked right at him, trusting and innocent. With a soft grin he kissed her gently in response before turning to deal with the contraceptive. With an ugly, inconvenient pause he began to push a finger into the sheath and unrolled it a little before slipping his hands down to drag it over his erection and unroll it. Michelle watched him in the dimness, biting her lower lip - anxious but equally nervous. Her hands automatically stroked his skin as he completed the necessary task and turned to her once again. Michelle kissed him immediately and felt the cool latex pressing against her belly, just like the last time. Fingers and limbs intertwined as they explored one another, kissing and pressing their hips with an urgent passion.
Mhic's fingers worked between her legs, a little alarmed at the lack of natural lubrication that made her wince unconsciously at the intrusion of his finger. Abandoning that for the moment he went back to kissing and caressing her as she grasped him, slowly pulling his body onto her own as she parted her thighs and spread her legs until he was nestled between her akimbo limbs.
Michelle's eyes seemed to glow in the dimness of the room and her body was exuding a fiery heat as he rubbed his hips against hers. All the time they kissed and his organ pressed hard against her lower stomach, progressively feeling his hips and the erection sliding further and further down her torso. With a dextrous shifting he finally felt her heat igniting the tip of his organ as it pressed directly into her sex. He lay on top of her and watched her face in the shadowy darkness as he cautiously pushed his organ against her yielding opening. At first there was a vague look, a sweet look of felicity emanating from her as he rubbed himself against the tiny dry opening to her insides… but that soon became little twists of suppressed pain as he pushed forward slightly, gently pressuring the vestiges of her hymen and pressing slowly into the tight opening that seemed reluctant to surrender to the fleshy invader. Each time he tenuously pushed against her, a little grunt of discomfort broke the burbling jazz background. As he patiently continued a little sob finally broke from her until she actually stopped him. They lay locked together in their intimate position for some minutes, saying nothing at all to one another - again! It was the exact same outcome as the last time and the time before that.
Michelle held him to her, scared and upset, anxious and panting as much from the mental discomfort as from her physical responses to him. She felt her heart race in adrenaline upset and trepidation.
With a little effort Mhic eventually pulled away from her clinging grip and carefully dismounted, lying back at her side once more.
They were silent. There was no caressing or touching any more. The silence between them was deafening. Only the sound of the babbling jazz filled in the yawning chasm of mutual solitude they were locked in. Mhic sighed quietly and slowly rolled onto his back and looked vacantly at the tattered poster of some band hanging on the wall, lit by the faint yellow intrusion of the neon streetlights.
For long minutes they remained this way, neither of them spoke and she eventually turned onto her side, away from him, wishing it hadn’t gone wrong again, wishing he’d just hold her.
Mhic tried to swallow his anger and frustration, telling himself he shouldn't be feeling this way, knowing it was wrong and stupid and unfair and selfish of him - rationalising it all yet again. Their physical distance in the bed had no correlation whatsoever to the gap between them, both being locked in their own thoughts and private discomfort.
The more his mind replayed the uncomfortable scenario, the more he felt the willingness to allow the remnants of the evening’s booze to draw him off to some unconscious sanctuary. After another few minutes he unexpectedly succumbed to the threat of sleep - now quite oblivious to the quiet sobs and flow of tears from the shattered body lying beside him. Michelle was quite alone.
The next morning, things were still no better, mutually civil but the ugly problem was still quite unresolved and there was no discussion of the ongoing issue initiated by either of them. This was the type of thing that never happened in films, the hero always beds the willing partner with no difficulty… but this wasn’t an artificial celluloid dimension – this was the real world and happy endings weren't guaranteed here!

It was the sound of the shop door opening again that distracted him from the ugly memories. Mhic consciously cut his thoughts abruptly, his mind having gone over it more than enough in the past already. It was well after five o'clock and Harry Hall was only returning from lunch with an unembarrassed look to him.
"Been busy, Mhic?” the owner inquired in an English accent reflecting his southern origins, clearly more than a little different from the copper haired youth's Middlesborough twang.
Mhic pointed out the window to the wet landscape outside and nodded.
"Not much, too wet for many customers today!"
Hall shrugged and nodded in agreement. "Right, if you want to head off I'll lock up!"
"Sure, thanks!” Mhic replied, trying not to reveal his own mental discontent.
He had gone through the motions of work although his head was elsewhere from the moment Sto had left and it was now finally time to go home. Pulling his trenchcoat around him, he merely nodded and eagerly departed from his workplace.
With a continuously preoccupied mind he drifted through the Town Centre, now a dark grey and yellow neon panorama of architectural ugliness. Mhic went splashing along the wet pavement as he wandered distractedly to the Danbray Central train station. It was only a five minute walk but the cold rain drenched him as he made his way to the transport home and he soon lost sight of the shop and everything else as he was completely consumed by the rain, and more so by his thoughts.